I may have mentioned on here before that when I got laid off from my advertising job in 2003, I wrote a book. Two hundred and thirteen pages of chick lit. It was more of a catharsis woven into a story, but the people who read it still told me it was quite entertaining.
Over the next 4 years, I edited it, wrote a query letter and decided to send it to a few literary agents. Yes, I'm slow moving...I think most people do that sort of stuff right away when they finish a manuscript. I was too busy trying to conquer the online dating world.
Anyway, I queried four agents and two of them wrote me back—one asking for an extended synopsis and the other my entire manuscript. This is SO easy, I thought. I couldn't figure out why more people weren't getting books published if I was going to end up with an agent so quickly.
I packaged up my giant manuscript with a little note and a piece of turquoise twine. And then I waited. I don't remember how long it took. But I received a letter back thanking me for my submission and explaining that the novel was too slow, too drawn out and too long.
I packed it away in a cupboard and have looked at it again only once.
Some would say that's a defeatist attitude, but the truth is, I sort of lost steam on my book's content. I'd rather work on my next idea now...
I learned yesterday that getting your hopes up about real estate is much like getting your hopes up about book publishing. Not A Good Idea.
Just as I had been when I sent off my manuscript, I was certain that the offer I put on a house would go through. It seemed like it was totally in the bag.
It was not.
I suppose I should be happy to have garnered some experience and learned this valuable lesson so that next time I find a house I like, I don't have the expectation I'm actually going to get it. But really, I'm just annoyed and a little bummed out. Back to the drawing board...